You Can Let Go
by Shadowcatxx
Summary: Prussia had promised to always take care of his little brother, Germany, and that's exactly what he did. In Germania's stead, he assumed the role of teacher and caregiver,and—despite his proud, arrogant attitude—he did it well. "I'll always be here to protect you, Germany," he whispered. "I won't let you go— not until you're ready."


**DISCLAIMER:**** Hetalia: Axis Powers **– **Hidekaz Himaruya**

**YOU CAN LET GO**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Please excuse the incredibly historically-inaccurate use of modern language (insofar as dialogue and description), as well as my taking liberties with some character relationships. All countries will be called by their present-day names rather than their historic names to avoid confusion.

* * *

The warrior cradled the newborn baby in his arms, the product of his north-western kingdom; a child born of his blood and bones. "Mein sohn," said Germania in disbelief; _my first-born child_. He had been alone for as long as he could remember, lording over the wild Germanic tribes; trying to establish a place—a national home—for his people. For centuries he had been fighting with Rome and the Scandinavians: _Those Northmen_,_ Viking bastards_; _and that self-centred Roman prick_! Rome's Empire was vast and magnificent—rich and cultured; so diverse—because of all the young countries he fostered. _Kidnapped_, Germania corrected in envy. "But I don't need them, mein baby," he said to the newborn. "I have you now, liebling. I'll teach you; help you grow-up to be big and strong and feared, and then someday you'll help me to finally unify the tribes."

The baby blinked up at him, smiling curiously. He was, Germania admit, a rather strange-looking child; not traditionally or obviously beautiful, like Rome's France or Spain. He looked leeched of colour, pale—even by northern standards. His snow-white hair was soft and his pale skin looked stretched thinly over his tiny, blue-veined body. He was strong though; Germania could feel the strength coursing through those veins. And his wine-red eyes were fierce. "Listen to Vater and you'll survive, liebling," he said. In a moment of paternal tenderness, he pressed his lips to the baby's forehead. "I'll protect you until you've grown, mein sohn. Mein Prussia."

* * *

Germania held Prussia's chubby hands as the toddler took his first step, shockingly early. His pale face was screwed-up in concentration as he lifted his foot, wobbled, and fell forward. But Germania caught him, his strong big-knuckled hands holding the child like safety-lines. Prussia squirmed, but Germania held him firmly: "Try again, Prussia." He stood him back up. "Don't be afraid, I'm right here. I'm not going to let go."

It took the better part of an afternoon, but, by sundown, Prussia was waddling clumsily through the field. He giggled as he explored the world from a new vantage-point, untroubled by fear. Germania kept a close eye on him, but gave him his space. When Prussia tumbled head-over-heels and began to wail, Germania stood stoically over him—a tall figure of lithe strength; long white-blonde braids blowing in the cool wind—and he said: "Stop crying, you're not hurt. If you're afraid, don't be— I'm here." Gently he placed his half-gloved hand on the toddler's head. "Now get up, Prussia, you're not weak; you're strong. Show me," he ordered, releasing him. "Stand up, sohn. If you're going to live in this world then you must be tough. You mustn't be afraid to get hurt."

* * *

The day that young Prussia took his first step was the day he began his training. The known-world was a dangerous place, waiting to swallow him whole; there was no time for childhood. Out of necessity, Prussia grew-up fast. The day he could lift a sword was the day he began learning its purpose, swinging and slashing in practice. He spent hours with Germania, drilling until his body ached and the fast swordplay became second-nature. He was taught to fight in hand-to-hand combat, wrestling the local boys for practice. If he won then he was made to run laps; if he lost then he was made to run laps carrying weights. He was given the privilege of learning complex letters and numbers (though he thoroughly disliked the strict, boring lessons). While Rome's children were playing in the sunshine, schooled in the finer arts, the Germanic child was tracking and hunting, learning mercilessness in the face of danger. While Rome's children were scolded and sent to bed without supper for displeasing their foster-father, Prussia was made to dig ditches in the cold, pouring rain if he talked-back to Germania (not that this broke his bad-habit—Prussia dug _a lot_ of ditches). Germania taught Prussia how to be a warrior, not without honour; he taught him how to be a knight.

One day, Germania took Prussia into a padlock and introduced him to a big, powerful black destrier. It was a mean-looking beast, shaking its mane and stamping its hooves in defensiveness. "He's yours if you can break him," said Germania, squeezing his shoulder. Prussia eyed the beast in awe, then swallowed anxiously; excited and afraid. "Go on, I'll help you," said Germania, propelling him into the padlock. "What's the first rule of engagement, Prussia?"

Prussia grounded himself, facing the destrier. He said: "Show no fear."

It took a long time, but—battered and bruised, his entire body aching—Prussia broke the devilish beast's temper and it became his horse. He climbed atop its broad back, hugging with his thighs, and grasped the reigns. Germania kept his hand rooted securely on Prussia's back, guiding his movements. "Gut," he said, urging the destrier into a walk. Prussia accidentally yanked on the reigns and the destrier trotted sideways, gaining speed; impatiently wanting to gallop. "Regain control!" Germania ordered, holding Prussia. The boy dug his heels into the destrier's sides and pulled its head. "Gut, keep going. It's alright, I've got you," Germania promised. "I won't let go."

Not until, days of practice later, Prussia shrieked happily and shouted: "You can let go now, Vater! I'm ready to do it on my own!"

Germania agreed. Slowly he removed his strong hand from Prussia's back, letting him go free. Prussia felt a shiver of excitement run up his spine; it pricked the back of his neck. His legs squeezed the destrier, memorizing its choppy gait; he clenched the reigns, one-handed; and he smiled, hollering loudly as he urged the beast faster. _It's still a little bit scary_, he thought, heart pounding in time with the destrier's hooves,_ but I'll be okay_. He felt fueled, filled with childish pride—the purest of motivators. He felt capable and accomplished. Alive.

Prussia threw a glance over-the-shoulder and saw Germania watching him. His sculpted arms were crossed over his tunic, standing perfectly straight; judging his son's technique. He looked stern, like he always did—but his ice-blue eyes were smiling.

_I'll become the strongest. I'll make you proud_,_ Vater_, Prussia thought for the first time. But not the last.

* * *

**SEVERAL CENTURIES LATER**

Prussia, kommen sie bitte hier," said Germania, gesturing for him. He was sitting on the dais steps in the Great Hall, holding a small bundle. It moved, shifting slightly. "This is your newborn baby-brother: Germany," he said matter-of-factly. "I want you to promise to always take care of him, Prussia. Protect him and teach him, can you do that?"

Prussia knelt and leaned toward Germania, peering into the soft, pink face of the baby. He was an attractive child, with white-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes: _Just like Vater_, he thought enviously. _He looks... solemn_. The baby's big eyes stared up at him, brow furrowed. His bottom lip curled in, trembling— _Don't cry_,_ baby-brother_. _I'm here_. Prussia narrowed his wine-red eyes and scrunched his nose, making a comical face; hesitantly Germany smiled, then laughed. It was a lovely, cherub-like sound. In delight, he reached up and grabbed his big brother's index finger. And Prussia felt his heart leap. He looked at Germania, who watched the exchange silently, and said: "Ja, I promise."

* * *

Prussia had fun spoiling and abusing his baby-brother: feeding him sweets, teasing him, carrying him around like a doll on-tour, and rocking him to sleep. Comically he sang to him, and Germany giggled at the atrocity of Prussia's loud, off-key singing-voice. Unlike Germania's archaic look, Prussia styled Germany's appearance after his own: he kept the baby's white-blonde hair short and dressed him in long, belted tunics and boots. As Germany grew, Prussia taught him swordplay, wrestling, and horseback-riding, just as Germania had taught him. He taught him his letters and numbers as best as he could—jealous of how easily academics came to Germany.

"Hold it taut," he advised, positioning Germany's fingers on a bowstring. "Now— release! Gut!" he cheered when the arrow hit the target. "Now go and get it."

Prussia took Germany hunting, letting the boy ride behind him upon his destrier. Germany hugged Prussia's waist tightly, afraid of the height. Prussia taught him the dogs' commands, but—rather than hunt—Germany laughed and chased the hunting dogs, playing fetch. Prussia rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You're lucky that it's me and not Vater," he said, pulling Germany's ear. _I never got to play_. "These dogs are fierce hunters, not pets— Germany, stop rubbing his belly and pay attention! I'm teaching you valuable life-skills, and you're— _oof_!" Prussia fell back, tackled by Germany and two boisterous hounds. "Ah! That's it— you're dead!" he laughed, joining the game.

Germany, like Prussia, had an affinity for rule-breaking. He liked to do things _his_ way, which frustrated his older brother, but Prussia was much more lenient than Germania had ever been; and much _louder_.

"You're such a baby!" he criticised, splashing river-water at Germany.

Germany pouted, hugging the dock's support. Fearfully, he said: "I'm not! I just... don't like... "

Prussia sighed. He was trying to teach Germany to swim, but his baby-brother was afraid of the water. _I shouldn't have told him those stories_—about river spirits and sea-monsters. "It's alright," Prussia said in reservation, propelling himself easily. His feet touched the riverbed and he stood, wading toward Germany. "Give me your hands, bruder," he said. Hesitantly Germany grasped Prussia's hands, squeezing hard; trusting him. He looked fearfully up at Prussia through big blue eyes. Prussia smiled: "Don't worry, I won't let go." He walked backwards, pulling Germany with him. "On your belly, c'mon. Now kick your legs. Gut, Germany— look, you're swimming."

"Don't let go!" Germany panicked, swallowing river-water.

Prussia chuckled. "I won't. Not until you're ready."

* * *

Increasingly Germania left for long periods at a time, sometimes without warning. He left his two young sons to fend for themselves in the wild northwest, trusting Prussia to take care of Germany. And that's exactly what Prussia did. He assumed the role of teacher and caretaker, and—despite his proud, arrogant attitude—he did it well. "I'll always be here to protect you, Germany," he whispered to his sleeping brother. "As long as you need me, I'll be here."

Then, in the heart of a fierce winter's blizzard, Germania returned for the last time:

Silently he sat down on the edge of his sons' single-bed and touched Germany's rosy cheek. He was curled up against his brother's body for warmth and comfort, holding a fistful of Prussia's nightshirt; Prussia was lying on his back, his left arm flung out beneath little Germany. Germania saw a bone-hilt knife poking out from under Prussia's pillow, and he smiled. He smoothed Germany's hair and tucked the blanket more securely around him. Then he reached for his first-born—a fiery, self-important teenager, who thought he was invincible. He grabbed Prussia's hand as it flew out in reflex, grabbing for his knife. His wine-red eyes snapped open, ready for a fight. It took a minute for him to discern the shadow looking down at him, but once he did he relaxed. "Vater," he whispered. "What are you—?"

"I wanted to see you both," said Germania softly, honestly.

Sensing distress, Prussia sat up—letting Germany's head flop onto the pillows. He rubbed his eyes, staring at Germania in the candlelight, noticing for the first time the deep laugh-lines around his ice-blue eyes; the weathered look of his skin; the silver strands in his long braids. He was tall and broad-shouldered, strong and durable; he had always been Prussia's picture of a true warrior, hard and crosshatched with scars. Prussia had never witnessed his big, stoic father lose a fight, nor even an argument. His presence demanded respect, like a king. But now he looked tired. When Germania grasped Prussia's shoulder, there was no strength in his hand; only age. Prussia swallowed.

"Prussia," said Germania. "I'm proud of you, I hope you know that. You've both grown into fine nations, but I—" He squeezed Prussia's shoulder, relaying anguish; weakness. His hand was shaking. "I wanted so badly to see the tribes united, to see you both become world-leaders. I'm sorry, I—"

"Vater," said Prussia in disbelief. It was frightening to see Germania so beaten-down, so spent. It would be a lie to pretend that he hadn't seen his father withering; the past few decades had been hard for everyone. Even Rome had collapsed, swallowed-up by history. _Not you_,_ Vater_! But Prussia could see that Germania was exhausted.

"I don't want to leave you with nothing," Germania worried; his voice broke: "Meine kinder."

It was killing Prussia to see the strongest man he had ever known wasting away to nothing as the world kept turning; as history left him behind. _He's only holding on for us_, he realized; _for Germany and I_. _He doesn't want to leave us alone_. Fighting emotion, Prussia leaned forward and wrapped Germania in a strong embrace: _I'm strong and capable_. _You taught me well. __I'll protect us_, _I promise_. Heart breaking, he said:

"It's alright. You can let go now, Vater. I'm ready to do this on my own."

* * *

**18 JANUARY 1871**

Prussia fussed over Germany, showing his pride by poking fun at his little brother and hiding his belongings; making him as frustrated as possible. They were staying at Versailles Palace in France, and, in approximately ten-minutes, Germany would be officially accepting the unification of the German States: The German Empire.

_I wish Vater could have seen this_, he thought, watching a red-faced Germany search for his cufflinks.

"Prussia—?!" he panicked, digging through his luggage.

Prussia rolled his eyes. Reclining on a chaise-longue, he kicked his legs down and stretched. "Stop worrying, you're too uptight. Relax," he advised. He produced Germany's cufflinks from his pocket, which Germany snatched up angrily. He watched his brother struggle for a minute, then sighed. "Here, let me do it," he said, folding-over a freshly starched and ironed shirt-cuff. If there was something fashionable that the German brothers took pride in, it was their flawless, clean-cut appearances. "There," Prussia finished. Habitually he reached up—Germany had grown into a big, broad man, taller than Prussia—and smoothed back his brother's white-blonde hair. Then he looped something heavy over Germany's head, clipping it over his cravat. Prussia smiled. "If you're going to represent the German Empire, you'll need that," he said. Taking Germany's shoulders, he turned him toward the mirror. "It was Vater's, then mine. Now it's yours, Germany." In good-luck, he touched the Iron Cross he had hung around his little brother's neck.

Prussia walked Germany to the Hall of Mirrors, keeping pace beside him; giving him unnecessary advice. To reassure his brother, he threw an arm companionably over Germany's shoulders; the younger was so stiff. But Prussia had faith in his public-speaking. In front of the doors Germany stopped and looked sideways at Prussia, nervous. He took a deep breath. Prussia smiled, and said: "You're going to do just fine, little bruder. Just focus on me if you feel nervous, okay? I'll be in the crowd watching you."

Germany nodded, exhaling. "Okay, I can do it," he said confidently. "Prussia, you can let go now. I'm ready."

* * *

Together, Prussia and Germany built the German Empire. They fought side-by-side through countless, bloody battles; forever allies, supporting each other. It was hard and often painful. They lost territory, which hurt the most; and they suffered economic strife—war, depression, recession, and war again. Ruling was difficult, and competing with the rest of Europe—most of whom had several centuries head-start—was nearly impossible. But they scrimped and scratched their savings together and recovered faster than anyone could have imagined. They made strategic decisions, giving their destitute population something to believe in. They honed their international reputation, becoming a reliable ally to those countries in need. And they kept their pride, which made them strong.

Then in 1933 the Enabling Act was reissued, giving the newly-appointed Chancellor the right to impose and enact laws without consulting Germany's Reichstag. Under this leadership the States were informally dissolved, and in less than a year Prussia was forced to surrender his independence. "Bastard!" he spat at the Chancellor, not for himself but for Germany's sake. "Do you think I can't see what you're doing?! You're manipulating mein little bruder!"

Germany argued against it. He begged the Chancellor to reconsider, but it was futile. Angrily he slammed his fist into a brick wall, cracking it. He fought desperately to make amends; fought the Allies, who sought the abolition of Prussia—the most powerful German State. However, he failed. When the Treaty of Versailles was re-annexed, Prussia was forced to surrender his lands to Poland, which was beyond humiliating. The German brothers clenched their fists and bit their tongues as Prussia was robbed, sharing a vengeful exchange.

"They can't do this to you, I won't let them!" Germany seethed.

Prussia swallowed his unease and forced a rueful grin. "I've survived a long time, little bruder. Know why? Because I'm awesome! They can't hurt me," he lied, ruffling German's perfectly-combed hair. "Don't worry about me, worry about your—_our_—country. The circumstances of this war are only going to get worse, more grim. Something isn't right, it's rotten," he foreshadowed. "You're looking pale, bruder. Are you feeling alright? Let's make ending this war our first priority." In comradeship, he touched his fist to his brother's Iron Cross. _For Germany_.

* * *

**BERLIN **

**MAY 1945**

On 8 May 1945, the Allies accepted the complete and unconditional surrender of Nazi Germany.

The war was _finally_ over, but Prussia's fierce red eyes were crazed. Beaten and bloody, weak and gaunt-faced from hunger, he stood over his brother's prone figure, aiming a loaded Luger at the Allies. "Don't touch him! I'll put a bullet in your head if you do, I swear it!" he yelled. They tried to calm him down, to reassure him that they meant no physical harm to Germany, but Prussia didn't believe them. "You're not taking him from me! I won't let you!"

Sighing, England gestured to his former-colonies: America and Canada, who flanked Prussia. In threat, they raised their guns and aimed at the distraught Prussia. "We don't want to hurt you, Prussia," said England sternly. "But if you give us reason to, that's exactly what we'll do. Now— _stand aside_."

Like a cornered dog, Prussia growled. He whipped out a second Luger and, rather than England, aimed at his precious former-colonies, cocking the triggers in challenge. "Don't think I won't shoot them dead," he warned him. "Think they can fire faster than I can? Do you really want to test it?!" England hesitated; his forest-green eyes glanced worriedly at his boys in betrayal. _C'mon England_,_ stand down_, Prussia hoped. _I don't want to shoot anyone_—_ but if it comes to that I will._ He wouldn't let the Allies take Germany to be punished. _I promised to always protect him_.

Then, suddenly—

"Prussia..." said a strangled voice. Weakly Germany grabbed Prussia's trouser-leg. He was hurting and sickly, half-starved and beaten, but the look in his ice-blue eyes was tender; hopeful. "Please bruder— just let go."

Prussia felt a stab of regret touch his heart: _I've failed you_. Slowly he lowered his Lugers and fell to his knees.

* * *

In 1947 the Allies officially declared the dissolution of the State of Prussia. Prussia's home was abolished and he was forced to move into Germany's house, living together again like when they were children. Then, in 1961, he watched the German Democratic Republic erect a giant concrete wall, fencing off his former homeland, which was now being occupied by the Soviet Union (i.e. that smug bastard, Russia). "Just look at him over there," Prussia said to Germany, pointing at Russia—who was waving. Unhappily Prussia returned it with a rude gesture.

Germany sighed. "I'm sorry it had to happen this way. If I could change things, I would—"

"Never-mind," Prussia interrupted. He didn't want to be pitied by anyone, least of all Germany. Instead he stretched his arms overhead and yawned, feigning indifference. "C'mon, let's get a beer."

Prussia lived in Germany's house for twenty-eight years. During that time he became, if possible, even louder and more obnoxious than he had been before, afraid that if he didn't make his presence obvious the world would forget about him and he would eventually cease to exist. _Just like Vater_, he thought, feeling secretly anxious. At first it seemed stupid to think about because the possibility was so remote. However, as time passed and the world evolved—changing so quickly with the aid of twentieth-century technology—he began to realize just how insignificant he was. As Germany regained power, soldiering on and rebuilding like he always did, adapting to the shifting of world power, Prussia began to realize how outdated his opinions were. Knights, he realized, were not needed anymore. Germany understood this. He evolved and prospered, but the more necessary Germany became, the less necessary Prussia was. He felt pride for his little brother, whom he had raised, but sadness as well. _He's outgrown me_, he realized. _The world doesn't need me anymore_.

Then in 1989 the Berlin Wall came down.

* * *

Prussia!" Germany screamed. He lunged forward and grabbed Prussia's forearm, squeezing tightly.

Prussia had been standing atop the Berlin Wall, surveying the East. Now he hung over the East-side's edge, feeling strangely numb. He looked absently up at Germany, leaning over the wall, and he blinked: "Bruder."

"Prussia, give me your other hand!" Germany yelled. His ice-blue eyes were wide and confused; panicking. He didn't understand what was happening, or why. Prussia felt Germany's hands—young, capable hands; callused but strong—grasping him, trying to pull him back up and over. "Prussia, what are you doing?! Give me your hand!" he ordered angrily. All around them the loud, dusty demolition continued. Prussia could feel chunks of himself falling apart as the wall crumbled. The world's last reminder that the State of Prussia had ever existed was being destroyed. And though Germany fought it, Prussia sighed in resignation. He had been feeling strange for months, not fuelled in anger, regret, or sadness—just empty. Tired. "Prussia!" Germany repeated earnestly. "Don't just hang there, get up!"

Slowly Prussia shook his snow-white head, wine-red eyes blinking back tears. He wouldn't taint Germany's last memory of him with tears. "Nein, Germany," he said calmly. "The world doesn't need me anymore. I've been living on borrowed time for twenty-eight years. It's time for me to go."

"No! I don't believe it!" Germany yelled, trying desperately to pull Prussia up. "You can't go, not like Vater. I don't care if the world needs you or not— _I_ need you, bruder!"

"Nein," Prussia denied, not unkindly. He could feel his body hanging limply, growing lighter by the second as his physical body dissolved; as he was forgotten—replaced. He cocked his head, staring up at his brother's face: "I know that it's still a little bit scary, but you're ready to do this on your own. You're strong, Germany." Grief-stricken, Germany shook his head, crying the tears that Prussia couldn't. _Don't cry_,_ Germany. I want you to know_: "You'll be just fine without me. Vater would've been so proud of you, as I am— you're awesome, little bruder. You'll do more than just survive; you'll become something great."

"No, please don't—" Germany begged, clutching desperately at Prussia's hand.

Prussia could feel himself slipping. "You're ready," he repeated, smiling tenderly. "It's okay, little bruder—"

"NO, PRUSSIA!"

—_you can let go_.

* * *

**ENDE**

**THANK-YOU for reading. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated :)**


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